Every once in a while, when the moon is full and the fog is heavy, you can hear women in the distance lamenting the death of chivalry. “Why won’t he open the door for meeeee?” they would wail, their voices blending into the cold wind, forgetting that only moments ago, before the transformation, they had asserted quite aggressively that they can open their own doors, thank you very much.

But this post is not about generalizing women as impossible to understand. Instead, I wish to answer the question of chivalry once and for all.

Last night, in an atmosphere of loud music and alcohol, my friend and I walked up to a couple of young attractive women. I introduced myself, and they themselves.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Charmed, I’m sure.”

Etiquette demanded I bowed my head slightly, out of respect, and because one lady wore a particularly low top.

As the night rolled on, and they came to our tables to rest, I was quick to pour them drinks. I made sure the alcohol content was potent enough to subdue a bull, lest they thought I was cheap. And whenever they took a sip, I immediately topped their glasses again.

“Finish it!” I said, perhaps too loudly, but I have been told to be supportive of women. To be even more supportive, I would raise the glass to their lips, giving strength to their arms when their own was dwindling. I knew I was being appreciated when the mumbled syllables coming out of their mouths resembled a “thank you”.

When the night was ending, I took it upon myself to drive one of the ladies home. No gentleman would allow such an incapacitated woman to spend the night without shelter. And as she writhed in the front seat, unaware that her movements were pushing her clothing to reveal more of herself, I held back from covering her. Perhaps in a foregone era, yes, but women have since fought for and won the right to do whatever they wanted, and I agreed.

I woke up the next morning, still dizzy. I turned around, and she remained in slumber. Thinking back now, I should’ve realized what was about to come when I noticed that she has shapeshifted into someone fatter.

Her eyes slowly opened with the glow of hellfire.

When she looked up to see me, she jumped up at once, and reared her head. A fiery burst of words spewed forth from her mouth, demanding to know who the fuck I was and what the fuck I was doing in her home. I was about to answer and give her a truthful account of the previous night when she rushed at me, her claws extended. Her growl thundered as it echoed in the chamber of her room. I took the opportunity to get the fuck out of there.

So, back to the original question, and what my story hopefully proves: no, chivalry is not dead, and I will continue to do my part as a gentleman to ensure its survival.

But dragon-slaying—that’s never coming back.


Unable to pay back my credit card debt of almost sixty dollars, it seems the only option left is to fake my death.

Much is expected of me because of my status as a worldly gentleman, but there is one area in which I fail miserably: alcohol tolerance.

Summer has arrived again, which means the return of my old nemesis: the ants. What is it about summer that brings out these tiny dudes?

Few things said by a woman can be more interesting than the one sentence she chooses to say when ending a relationship. Months or years of shared moments and emotions are condensed into a mere handful of words, each as ambiguous as a mixed cup of Slurpee, and each as cold.

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Copyright © Kevin Kao 2008-2010